To a T
by Morello
Summary: You can never tell with new recruits. Some fit; some don't. Rude's not sure about this rookie he's been partnered with recently. Some cocky under-plate kid, name of Reno. M, mostly for Reno's language. Hints of future Reno/Rude if you like, but can be taken just as Reno and Rude.


**Apologies for the lack of progress on the multi chapter stories. To all those kind people who have reviewed thank you, and I will be finishing them. My writing has been stuck for a while, I'm afraid.**

**This is a story that came out of nowhere about Reno and Rude on one of their first missions together. Not really sure what it is - sort of 'day in the life of some Turks'? Hints of future Reno/Rude if you like, or just Reno and Rude. Rude isn't sure about this rookie he's been landed with.**

**Kit is Katana from 'Before Crisis'. Dana is an older Turk. Shafiq is a youngish Turk.**

* * *

**To a T**

Rude wondered again whether Veld had been right about this. The rookie had handled himself competently enough so far – more than competently, to be fair – but those missions had been relatively simple: the usual tour of Sector Eight, the investigation of a small monster outbreak in Sector Three – routine and up-side. Undercover in the Corner Market of the Sector Two slums was something else - _The Cage_ made _The Honeybee Inn_ over in Six look like a five-star hotel on the plate, and the rumours about the local Boss, Don Alvar, were most likely enough to make Don Corneo shake in his fake snakeskin boots. Rude had suggested to Veld that perhaps it would be better if he were the one to make the move on the mark with Reno as backup, but Veld had shaken his head. "No – Reno's the type, and he knows the local slang. Your part in this should be a simple enough job – Vitsin has no reason to suspect anyone knows he's there for the report and he's staying at the inn alone. Shafiq got chatting to him last night and confirmed he's intending to visit _The Cage_ this evening. Reno's proficient in the use of sleep materia. Vitsin's not someone Don Alvar will be interested in – Alvar has his fingers in a lot of pies, but no connection with Wutai. You're not getting cold feet are you, Reno?"

"Nope," the cocky kid had replied, with a fierce scowl in Rude's direction. "_I_ ain't the one getting' antsy. _He_ thinks I can't handle it, you better give me some backup I can rely on, yo."

"I didn't say that," Rude had protested. "It's just a dangerous mission for someone so inexperienced."

"What the fuck do _you_ know about my experience?" Reno had asked, eyes flashing. Rude had apologised, sensing Veld's growing impatience, but he still wasn't sure that the rookie was up to the job. Self-confidence in the office was one thing – out in hostile territory with the potential for a hundred things to go wrong – that was different.

Rude had to admit though, as they stood in line for the club, Reno looked the part. It wasn't clear how he'd managed it, unless it was the obscenely tight fit of his ripped jeans, but he was already getting attention from several women in the line, and, of more relevance to the mission, one or two men as well. Rude couldn't really blame them – Reno had somehow transformed himself into the planet's most outrageous flirt, winking at the girls, exchanging apparent pleasantries with them in a street dialect Rude found almost incomprehensible, while giving the men more subtle come-ons – all half-smiles, and some extraordinary thing he did with his eyes – a sort of mesmerising slow-motion raising of lowered eyelids… Rude looked away, understanding suddenly why Veld had chosen Reno for this mission, and wondering about the kid's past.

"Cut that out," he muttered. "You don't want half the club focussed on you the minute we get in."

"Will be anyhow," Reno grinned, turning that same look on him. "'Sup baby – jealous? You know I'm only foolin' around."

Rude didn't deign to reply to that, glad of the distraction when a pretty blonde woman in a dress that left almost as little to the imagination as Reno's jeans slipped between him and Reno and asked, "Yo's jes' friens ra?"

"Yo fush," Reno assured her. "He ain't no y-y, get me? No yo-yo, even, far as, ra."

"Fo _sure_?"

"Yeah. He don' chat none, fush, but he like the x sex jes fine, ya get me?"

"That right?" the girl asked Rude, smiling up at him, and putting a hand on his right bicep with obvious admiration. "Them some smokin' guns, fush." Her eyes drifted down his body. "You got like the whole _pump-action_ goin' on, too, yo? You got like a whole Ass-enal?" The girls' friends giggled, and Reno looked at Rude expectantly. When he failed to make any reply at all Reno said, "Ah – he jes' kinda shy, yo. He warm up jes fine after a couple a bevs yo."

"Fush?" the girl said, her interest clearly waning. Reno gave her an electric smile, but Rude was apparently more her type, and she wandered back to her friends, although not without a wiggle of her hips and a quick backward glance to make sure Rude was watching.

"What the hell, man? She not hot enough for ya?" Reno asked.

"Yeah – but – I only got about half of what she was saying. Oh – we're up," Rude said quickly, hurrying through the doors. After a cursory pat down and the usual metal detector sweep, Reno and Rude paid the extortionate entrance fee, retrieved their phones from the guards after passing through the scanner, and made their way into the packed club. Descending dimly lit stairs, they pushed through the crowds that were gathered around the almost naked dancers of both sexes gyrating in their cages to the thud of music that was mostly bass, and finally reached the bar.

"Shaf left a message - Vitsin came through the doors half an hour ago, so he's here somewhere," Reno said, as Rude attempted to order drinks. "An' Kit texted to say Fenton's left the club already, so Vitsin's got the report on him. Can't see him on the floor." Rude finally got the barman's attention, and ordered. While the man was busy, he turned to scan the crowd on the dance floor, then looked back at the bar. "Your three," Rude murmured to Reno, without looking round again. "Watching the guy in the cage on the middle podium."

"Oh – yeah," Reno replied, touching the sleep materia in his earring subconsciously, in the first sign of nerves he'd shown all evening. "Huh. Like I'd _ever_ –"

Rude gave him a curious look and he fell silent, taking the drink Rude handed him and knocking it back at once. "Well," Reno said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "no point hangin' around. See you in a few."

"Yeah." Rude almost added _be careful_, but he guessed Reno would construe that as a lack of trust in his ability to get the job done, so he held his tongue. He sipped his drink slowly, focussing on pretty women in the crowd, letting his attention return to Reno only occasionally. Reno was dancing, heading gradually closer to the target's position. Rude couldn't help but admire the way Reno moved, and it seemed he wasn't alone. Perhaps Reno hadn't only been boasting when he'd implied he'd be the centre of attention whether he set out to be or not. Several girls attempted to dance with him, but he moved on with a word or a smile until he was standing just behind Vitsin. Rude was watching when Vitsin turned around and saw Reno, observing the moment when the man's annoyance at someone invading his personal space turned into slack-jawed lust as Reno flashed him a devastating smile and asked him for a light.

The woman who had approached Rude outside the club reappeared, batting her bejewelled fake eyelashes, and Rude made himself focus on her, telling himself that, rookie or no, Reno was officially a Turk now and had to be trusted to do the job.

"Aimee with two e's, an' no, that don't mean I'm too easy," the woman told him, leaning close so as to be heard above the throbbing music and to give Rude a better view down the front of her dress. "So – yo up-sider, ra?"

"Yeah, I work on the plate," Rude confirmed.

"Thought yo din get me out there," Aimee nodded. "I can talk like an up-sider if I have a incentive though, ra. Buy me a drink? I'll have a Reactor, yo."

"Sure." Rude turned back to the bar, glancing at Reno, who seemed to be engaged in conversation with the target. When Rude finally got served and turned back to hand a glowing green cocktail to Aimee-with-two-e's, both Reno and Vitsin had gone.

Rude took out his phone and pretended to read a message. "Sorry," he said, "I have to go. Work."

Aimee's smile vanished. "The fuck?"

"Sorry," Rude said again. "No choice."

"Yeah? Ya know, yo fuckin' g-boy back thar fulla shit, breezin' y'ain't no y-y, fush."

"If you like," replied Rude, impatient and not sure exactly what she'd accused him of.

Aimee rolled her eyes. "Fuck-evah!" She vanished into the crowd, along with her thirty gil cocktail. Rude scanned the smoky club for Reno and Vitsin. He sighed with relief as he noticed the rookie's distinctive hair across the room. They were already at the foot of the stairs, on their way out of the club.

Once on the street, Rude ducked into the doorway of a closed mini-mart and watched his partner and the target discussing something outside the inn. Vitsin went inside and Reno lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall to smoke it, his entire demeanour instantly shifted. Where all his former body language had been wanton invitation, now it was the opposite – head lowered, shoulders hunched, face set in a narrow-eyed scowl that said _fuck off_ as clearly as shouting the words aloud would have done. Even so, one hopeful man started to cross the street towards him until the force of Reno's glare hit him and he changed direction hurriedly.

Rude had to admit the kid was good. The mean-eyed, streetwise little bastard he was looking at now bore almost no resemblance to the hyped flirt with the hundred megawatt smile who had worked the line outside the club so effectively earlier in the evening. Reno had gone from the epitome of open to the definition of closed in one effortless change of – what? Bearing? Attitude? Was that all it was? Was either of these characters close to the real Reno, Rude wondered? Veld had told him nothing of his new partner's background, although everyone said he'd come from the Midgar slums, and that seemed confirmed by his appearance and the easy way he slid into underside dialects. Someone – Dana, maybe – had let slip that the newbie was an orphan. Rude could only imagine what it took for a kid to survive on his own in the slums, but he was sure adaptability was key. Was _Turk_ just another new role for him? If so, would he grow to inhabit it, or would it remain a guise? He'd seen it before – rookies who had an idea of the job that never quite sat right with the reality. Some had learned in the end. The others hadn't made it. Rude still wasn't sure what to expect from Reno. For all he was loud and cocky most of the time, he sure kept his cards close to his chest, asking more questions than he answered, and answering those he couldn't completely ignore with jokes and evasions for the most part. No one even seemed to know for sure how old he was, although Rude guessed it couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. _Slippery_, Rude thought. _Sharper than he pretends to be. Could go either way, but more promise than I thought at first. _

Veld, after all, had been the one to bring him in, and Veld rarely made mistakes.

Reno dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter, shoved his hands into the pockets of his close-fitting jacket and made his way into the inn, his face impassive. Rude checked that his phone link was open in case Reno needed backup. Through his earpiece, Rude heard the sound of light footsteps on wooden stairs and a knock at a door, then Vitsin's voice, rather muffled, saying, "Come in. Shut the door."

"Nice room," Reno said.

"It's okay. Not much for what they charge. Hope you'll be better value."

"Oh – I'm _always_ good value," Reno replied. "Sucks for you, you can't afford me, yo."

"What? But we agre –"

There was a soft thump, and Reno's voice murmuring, "Night-night, fucker." Various soft rustling sounds followed, then the click of the door closing. Two minutes later, Reno was out of the inn, heading for Rude.

"Quick work," Rude observed, turning off his phone.

"Why would I hang around?" Reno said, unsmiling. "Did you hear him? _Better value_. Cheap bastard only had a couple hundred gil on him. Here." Reno took Vitsin's wallet out of his inside jacket pocket and handed Rude two fifty gil notes.

"What's this?"

"Your share. 'Sup? You want the shrapnel, you're welcome, yo. Don't worry – I'll fence the watch an' split it, yeah?"

"No – it's not that. We give everything in."

"Like hell!"

"How it is. Evidence is always disposed of."

Reno looked at Rude, and saw that he was serious. Then that odd shift happened again as, with a sudden grin, Reno took back one of the fifties and tucked it into his jeans pocket, replacing the wallet inside his jacket. "Cheap bastard only had a hundred gil on him," he said, without blinking.

Rude raised his eyebrows.

"What?" Reno asked. "Like he's gonna make a fuss about the robbery! He'll be so damned relieved he's still got the report and his phone, he ain't gonna draw attention, yo. That line's not open is it?"

"No," Rude replied, "I turned the phone off."

"Me too. So we're good."

"Reno – you do know what your salary is now?"

"Yeah – and? Fifty gil was still fifty gil last time I looked. You don't want it, you can buy us drinks with it, yo."

Rude sighed. "Okay. When we get back upside and after we've checked in. You got the photos of the report?"

A look of pure panic crossed Reno's face. "Shit. I don't believe it! The photos!"

"You didn't –"

"Jus' fuckin' with you, man!" Reno laughed at Rude's horrified expression. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, though. Like, I'd take the gil and forget the whole point of the mission?"

"Seen rookies do worse," Rude replied.

"Not _this_ rookie."

"Seen people die of overconfidence, too," Rude commented.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. C'mon – let's catch that train."

It wasn't until the train was well into its second loop of the central support pillar en route to the top of the plate that Reno started to show a little of the adrenaline response Rude had been expecting to see during or immediately after the mission. Reno was wired; couldn't sit still, strap-hanging when the car was empty just for the pleasure of stretching. Rude's eyes were drawn to the bare flesh, between the low-rise jeans and tight t-shirt, exposed by Reno's position. The kid was the kind of skinny rarely seen above the plate, and all too often below it. His belly was more concave than flat, muscle hardened by necessary exertion rather than targeted workouts. His skin was most likely naturally very pale to go by his colouring in general, but it had the added pallor of someone who had never seen the sun. Rude wondered whether Reno had attended enough school to pick up the compulsory vitamin D supplements, but he'd passed basic training so there couldn't be too much wrong with his body. Just below the jut of Reno's left hipbone, Rude noticed the lines of an elaborate-looking black tattoo, but not enough of the design was visible for him to guess what it might be. Realising that if Reno caught him staring he might get the wrong impression, Rude looked away hastily, glad that his dark glasses, reflecting the strip lights in the car, would make it difficult for anyone to work out where his gaze was focussed. Wouldn't want his new partner thinking he was unprofessional enough to show an interest, even if he wasn't quite as strictly for the 'x sex', or whatever that phrase had been, as Reno seemed to assume. Remembering Aimee's anger Rude asked, "What's a g-boy?"

Reno's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"That girl in line at the club came back when you were talking to Vitsin."

"An' she called _you_ a g-boy?" Reno asked, incredulous.

"No – you. She said you'd told her I wasn't a y-y, but implied you were lying. Y-y means gay, yeah?"

"Yeah. Why'd she think I was lyin'? How in hell d'you fuck that one up? She was into you, yo!"

"I had to go. You were leaving."

"Oh – so she was just disappointed. 'Kay."

"So, what's a g-boy?"

Reno tossed his head. "Gil-boy. Rent boy. Whore. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it." His eyes were hard. He stared at Rude, his body suddenly tense, his whole attitude a challenge. Rude said nothing.

"Ask," Reno demanded.

Rude looked away. "Wasn't thinking that." As soon as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He'd been wondering ever since Reno showed up in the office in the morning wearing that outfit.

"Yeah," snorted Reno, turning his head to stare at the far end of the car. "Right."

"Okay," Rude admitted. "Maybe I wondered. But - ain't none of my business."

"No," said Reno. "No it ain't, but for the record, no, I wasn't. There were some people seemed to think I should be, but they're dead. Never thought I'd become a fuckin' Turk and one of the first things I'm told to do…" As quickly as it had come his anger vanished. He grinned at Rude, in a way that could only be described as provocative, and cocked his head flirtatiously to one side. "I fake it good though, don't I?"

"Vitsin seemed convinced."

"Yeah. Yeah. Cheap fucker. Two hundred fuckin' gil! An' you don't even wanna know what he thought he could get for that!"

"No," Rude agreed, although he was mildly curious. Reno looked at his own reflection in the dark windows, growing serious again. "Never was, though. Anythin' you hear, it's a lie, right? Never done nothin' that wasn't on my own terms, yo."

Rude only nodded. Reno relaxed, slowly, into the silence Rude left him. After a while he asked, "You like this job?"

"Suits me, yeah." Rude had no more to say on the subject, and Reno took to pacing the length of the car with easy strides, perfectly balanced to counteract the sway of the train. Rude watched him. It was difficult not to watch Reno, he realised. There was something compelling about the way he moved, and in the expectation of motion when he was still.

As the train approached the outer stations on the plate, the car began to fill up. Rude noticed two men checking Reno out as they boarded, one with hostility carefully veiled as he decided Reno looked too dangerous to pick on, but the second with unconcealed appreciation. As the train pulled out of the station the second man took up a position directly opposite Reno, and when the security scan brought its usual moment of darkness he was suddenly much closer.

"Hey," he said, just loudly enough for Rude, sitting nearby, to overhear. "You sure as hell one pretty twink, y'know?"

Reno fixed him with a look so icy that it almost made Rude shiver. "Did you just call me a _twink_?"

The man took a hasty step backward, but his eyes were still on Reno, his expression greedy and full of the same want Rude had seen on Vitsin's face when he'd first turned around to find Reno standing behind him. As though he couldn't help himself the man moved back towards Reno. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and his breathing heavy. "Yeah. Fuckin' _hot_ twink."

Reno smiled then, and Rude's skin prickled. Shaking his head Reno said, "Well, you're half right." His smile widened, showing teeth. "What I am begins with a T, an' ends with a K," he told his admirer in a sultry undertone, "but I ain't no fuckin' _twink_." He took hold of the man's shirt with both hands and leaned close. For a moment it looked as though Reno was planning on kissing the guy, but instead he whispered something into his ear too softly for Rude to catch, and suddenly the man was stumbling away, grey-faced and mumbling apologies, disappearing into the next car as fast as his shaking legs would carry him. Reno watched him go with apparent satisfaction, cool triumph in his eyes.

As they left the train at the station in Sector Eight, Rude asked, "What did you say to him?"

"One word," Reno replied.

Rude nodded. "_Turk_."

"You know it. No one gets to call me nothin' but Turk from now on." Reno's eyes were very bright as he turned to look at Rude. "I reckon I'm gonna like this job just fine."

"Yeah," Rude agreed. "Yeah - I think you're a fit. 'Reno of the Turks'."

"Reno of the Turks," Reno echoed, pleased. "Hell, yeah. Reno of the fuckin' Turks, yo!"

The pair of them made their way towards the ShinRa building, mission accomplished; Veld already in possession of the photographic evidence of Vitsin's treachery sent from Reno's phone, and Vitsin's accomplice, Fenton, one of Scarlet's juniors, safely locked in an interrogation cell following his arrest by Kit.

Down in his rented room in the Sector Two slums, Vitsin knelt amongst his scattered possessions, clutching the stolen ShinRa Weapons Department report his Wutai contact had sworn would make him a rich man, and thanking his lucky stars that the slutty little shit who had rolled him was too dumb to know the real prize when he saw it. He persisted in that delusion for the rest of his life, which was ended, eleven hours later, in a narrow alleyway behind a burning Wutaian restaurant in the Sector Four slums, by one efficient pass of Tseng's silent knife.


End file.
